


In Pursuit of Greatness

by vitjanikiforov (vieillealliance)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tennis, M/M, Slow Burn, Wimbledon - Freeform, time shall tell, will they feed each other strawberries and cream at some point?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13283013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vieillealliance/pseuds/vitjanikiforov
Summary: “Very, very few people would’ve been expecting Crispino to beat someone like Nikiforov. After all, the fact he even reached the semifinals is due more to Katsuki’s meltdown in the quarters than his own skill—”Yuuri Katsuki's tennis career has had moments of brilliance and long stretches of disappointment. Long ago Yuuri had dreamed of being on top of the world, but after his run at the Australian Open ends with his most humiliating defeat ever he decides to retire in disgrace.His sister has a different plan.





	In Pursuit of Greatness

It’s one of the hottest days of the summer in Melbourne. One or two players have been forced to forfeit their matches, and more have been struggling to continue playing, but nevertheless the spectators have turned out in their sweaty thousands.

There is one player, however, who isn't suffering from the heat. In his hotel room the heavy curtains are drawn, not a trace of the day’s brilliant sunlight reaching inside. Besides the gentle hum of the air conditioning, the only other sign of life is the television, currently showing the tail-end of the Nikiforov-Crispino semifinal.

Both the room and its occupant are a mess. Clothes lay strew across on the floor, along with the occasional racquet or frequent snack wrapper. The bed is in equal disarray. Huddled in amongst the heaps of blankets and bedding is Japan's number one tennis player.

He lets out a long breath as the umpire announces: _“Game, set, match — Nikiforov!”_

Viktor is flushed, his hair gleaming in the brilliant sunlight, as he approaches the net to shake Michele’s hand. He turns and waves to the adoring audience, tossing his headband and wristband into the mass of people. There’s a brief rise in the volume of the screams.

_“Very, very few people would’ve been expecting Michele to beat someone like Viktor. After all, the fact he even reached the semis is due more to Katsuki’s meltdown in the quarterfinal than his own skill, not to mention Otabek Altin’s shoulder injury in the third—”_

Jolting as if he’s been electrocuted, Yuuri lurches up into a sitting position, skittering his hands over the bed covers in search of the TV remote. When he finds it, he presses the power button as aggressively as he can, as if it has a physical link to the actual commentator. 

Well. He’d been a fool to think no one would mention his performance, hadn’t he? How could they not? He supposes everyone’s talking about it. It’ll probably propel Yuuri to equal the heights of fame that Viktor enjoys, only for completely the opposite reasons.

If it weren’t for a gala he’s due to attend the next day, Yuuri would’ve already fled the country. The last, scattered shreds of his dignity are stopping him from bailing out on a charity fundraiser, of all things.

The one thing in his favour is that no matter what press has been invited to cover the event, they'll only be asking about his charity work, not his _‘meltdown’_ as people have apparently decided to start calling it. If anyone looks like they’re even _considering_ veering towards mentioning it, Mari will step in and use that tone of voice that always sends the more tactless reporters scurrying.

Among the many, many things _not_ in his favour is the small matter of Celestino being there. Yuuri hasn’t spoken to his coach since his match two days ago. He also still hasn’t told him that he’s going to announce his retirement after the tournament’s over, which seems the kind of thing you should discuss with your coach beforehand but, ha. Never mind.

Michele will be there, and Sara, and Christophe and Jean-Jacques and Mila and Georgi, all his contemporaries, not to mention their own legendary coaches, Yakov and Josef and Alain… They’ll be annoyed when Yuuri shows up, forcing them to struggle to come up with some kind of positive encouragement for him when he’s obviously, hopelessly lagging behind them all in talent...

And Viktor will be there, of course. All these years spent chasing him, and he should have finally, _finally_ been competing against him today. But against all expectations - except perhaps Yuuri’s own - Michele had crushed him in their quarterfinal.

The press had asked if he’d injured something. 

“Only my pride,” he had answered. Then they’d laughed at him.

_Yuuri, are you still going to Roland Garros? Yuuri, are you going to give up tennis? Yuuri, what have you learned from this defeat? Yuuri, are you worried you've never won a Grand Slam and you're already 24? Yuuri? Yuuri!_

Yuuri pushes his face into a pillow, desperately trying and desperately failing to think of something, anything else. 

He feels trapped. It’s the same way he feels during press conferences and parties, like he’s drowning, like he wants to run and hide away from prying eyes. The problem now is that he’s already hidden himself away; it’s his own thoughts he can’t escape from, his own failure. He can’t work out how to hide from himself. Yuuri curls up, rocks himself back and forth and, breathing as evenly as he can, tries to wait out the storm in his head. 

* * *

He has no idea what time it is when there’s a knock at the door. Yuuri struggles to untangle himself from his nest of blankets and, when he finally finds his glasses, checks his phone on the nightstand. His eyes widen when he realises he's slept right through till morning. Guilt start to churn in his stomach when he sees the frightening number of ignored messages from Mari; no need to guess who’s on the other side of the door.

Yuuri peers around his mess of a room and seriously considers just never leaving. But he steels himself and stumbles over to open the door, flicking on the overhead light on the way.

Yuuri’s sister knows him better than anyone else on the planet. He feels a messy swirl of relief and fondness and guilt when he answers the door and Mari’s isn’t angry or sympathetic, but just her usual, laid back self. She’s holding a sandwich that Yuuri’s stomach falls in love with at first smell. 

“You’re too good to me,” he manages to say, voice rough from crying and disuse. He stands aside to let her in the room. She smirks as she passes him.

“I mean, you do pay me, so…” Mari says as she sits gingerly on the corner of his bed. 

“About this evening,” Yuuri breaks in straightaway. “Is there anyway I could… not go?”

Mari sighs, good humour falling away. “Look, as your big sister, I would love to sit in and order junk food while we watch crap movies. But as your manager, I have to drag you to this gala, no matter how much you complain.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re right,” Yuuri says, ducking his head. "Also, um. I'm going to retire? Right after the end of the tournament."

“Okay. Let’s focus on one thing at a time,” Mari says firmly. “What’s your number one priority right now?”

“My sandwich?” he guesses hopefully.

“Mm, no. A _shower_.”

“Ah… I don’t know. I mean, I haven't eaten much. What if I get light-headed and faint and hit my head, all because I didn’t get my sandwich?” Yuuri knows that, no matter how hard she denies it, Mari is weak when it comes to denying Vicchan his treats. He tries his best to mimic his big puppy-dog eyes.

Mari is cruelly unimpressed. “Yuuri, I _will_ throw you in the tub. Don’t think I won’t.”

Yuuri almost argues back but when Mari starts to roll up her sleeves he recognises the imminent danger, and flees into the bathroom.

He initially plans on a quick five minutes to refresh himself but moans in pleasure the moment the hot water makes contact with his stiff muscles. He zones out for at least fifteen minutes before remembering he's there to wash himself. Yuuri begrudgingly admits to himself that he feels considerably better after the shower.

When Yuuri re-enters the bedroom to find sunshine and fresh air streaming in from the window, he feels even better. He scowls half-heartedly, knowing Mari will be able to tell.

She’s also vaguely sorted out his mess of a room. The wrappers are in the trash and his tennis gear is stacked neatly on a chair; his clothes, though, have simply been stuffed into a plastic sack.

“You can sort out your own dirty underwear,” Mari remarks when she sees him looking, wrinkling her nose. Yuuri wants to thank her but his throat feels too tight to speak. He sticks his tongue out at her instead, his go-to reply to his sister for the past twenty years. The corner of Mari’s mouth quirks up, so at least he knows she understands.

Mari turns her attention to her phone while Yuuri gets dressed into a plain suit. He’ll change into his dress clothes at the hotel where the gala’s being held.

Yuuri’s interest in fashion is half-hearted at best, but he still realises how beautiful his dress suit is: deep blue-black velvet with a matching satin bow tie. It’s brand new, bespoke for him to wear at this specific event. Even he can admit he looks damn good in it. His small bubble of pleasure bursts when he remembers that Burberry — and all his other sponsors — are most likely embarrassed to be associated with him now. Yuuri’s certain that the politest thing he could to at this point is not turn up at all. 

Yuuri dresses himself slowly and methodically, trying to get back that slight optimism he’d felt upon leaving the bathroom. He’s fiddling hopelessly with his cufflinks when Mari approaches him to help. 

Yuuri breaks the silence.

“Will you still love when I retire?” He manages a wan smile.

“That’s not funny,” Mari answers softly. She finishes sorting out his cuffs easily and places both hands on Yuuri’s shoulders, looking at him squarely in the face. “You know I’d never stop loving you, right?” 

“Yeah,” he mutters. He _knows_ , of course he knows; he just can’t stop worrying sometimes. He squares his shoulders and holds her gaze. “I know.”

“And Mom, and Dad, and Minako,” Mari continues, recognising that the moment has passed. Her voice takes on a teasing tone. “And Yuuko, and Takeshi, and the kids-”

“Argh, okay!” 

“About retiring, Yuuri,” Mari says. “None of us would stop you, you know? It’s your career; your life. But personally, I don’t think you actually want to retire.”

Yuuri thinks about the past two days he’s spent agonising over his defeat. “No?”

“Mm. I know you well enough to know that you don’t want to stop playing, you just want to stop _losing_.”

“Retiring is actually a pretty good way to stop losing,” Yuuri points out. 

“Oh, ha ha. I know what I’m talking about.” Mari drops her hands and moves to pick up her bag and phone. Yuuri, too, goes to collect his things in order to leave the room.

“We just need to get through tonight,” Mari continues. “Then we can go home and regroup. We have time; we can work out a schedule, and I can reveal my grand plan.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh _yes_. Onwards and upwards!" She continues to torture him after they begin walking down the corridor. "Things can only get better! Tough times never last —”

“Mari, I am literally begging —”

“Okay! Okay.” She smiles. They pause in front of the elevator. She almost pulls him into a hug but Yuuri throws up his hands reflexively.

She considers him for a moment, then darts her hand up to ruffle his hair. Before he can grumble, she claps her hands once and switches immediately from Yuuri’s sister to Yuuri’s manager. Once they're inside and heading down, she begins to speak.

“Right.” Mari's tone is brisk. “I know you’ve been to loads of these things before, but it doesn’t hurt to go back over some advice. Most importantly, as always: do _not_ go near the champagne. Secondly…”

**Author's Note:**

> yall: really cool and inventive AUs  
> me: what about... _~tennis~_
> 
> Seriously though, I adore tennis. Which is good because even if no one else likes this fic, at least I will!
> 
> Unbeta'd, so if you spot any typos let me know!
> 
> I'm on twitter [here](http://twitter.com/katsuki_viktor) if you'd like to say hi!


End file.
